


Carpe Diem, Carpe Mei

by starknight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Getting Together, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Marathon Sex, Other, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Scene: The Bandstand (Good Omens), Rape Roleplay, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknight/pseuds/starknight
Summary: It’s the last night before the last morning before the world ends. Aziraphale is looking up at Crowley with pink cheeks and wide blue eyes. And Crowley has nothing left to lose.How do you politely ask your Divine Nemesis, best friend of six thousand years, and relatively recent allegiance:wanna fuck?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title translates to _Seize the Day, Seize Me_.
> 
> This was going to be a short one shot, and then it was a long one shot, and now that I’ve finished I realise that I have not actually finished and cannot possibly leave this fic at the current ending. So. There will be a part two, and it will resolve the angst set up in this!
> 
> Thank you to [sosobriquet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosobriquet/pseuds/sosobriquet) for brainstorming with me, [robynthemagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robynthemagpie_writes/pseuds/robynthemagpie_writes) for beta’ing, and all the others in the good omens big bang server for being excited about things I write and just generally being lovely people.
> 
> This fic was originally inspired by the song Dead Girl Walking from Heathers aka [this animatic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXv6WDu-414) (and then grew exponentially). 

_ It’s over. _

He hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t have.

_ It’s over. _

Why did he have to be so vague?  _ What,  _ exactly, was over? The Arrangement? The world? Their friendship?

_ I don’t even like you. _

He couldn’t have meant that, Crowley was absolutely certain. Not even a hint of a doubt.

_ Even if I did know where the Antichrist was… _

Did he? Had he been lying to Crowley? Had he told Heaven? Crowley felt sick.

_ It’s over. _

Crowley took a deep breath. He tried to drink in the calm of the night air, to fill his cup with all the right things to say, for something or someone to give him the strings of words that might tie him closer to Aziraphale. 

He knew what he  _ should _ say.  _ Have a nice doomsday. _ Back off, grieve in the cold angles of his flat, lick his wounds clean and let them dry in the morning light tomorrow. But he didn’t want to go, not with Aziraphale looking at him like that, so hopeless and forlorn and casting a huge distance between them with his desperate words.

“Please,” Crowley said. His voice cracked. “Please don’t -”

Aziraphale’s eyes filled with tears. He turned away and put his hands on the railing of the bandstand, leaning on it for support. Crowley watched the rise and fall of his shoulders; desperate, heaving breaths. 

“Okay,” Crowley said. He sniffed and ran a hand through his hair, straightening up. “Okay. It’s - it’s fine, angel. Let’s just forget about it.”

“How can we?” Aziraphale asked miserably, still not looking his way.

Crowley came to stand beside him. “I mean, we’re doomed anyway. It’s just a matter of perspective.” 

They looked out together at the dark rustling of branches and leaves itching in the wind. Crowley jumped when he felt a warmth on his hand, and looked down to see Aziraphale’s over his.

“I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t mean it.”

Crowley sighed, but didn’t move his hand. “I know.”

“What do we  _ do _ , Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t want to think about it. Much like an assignment one has procrastinated until the early hours of the morning, his panic had induced the exact state lending itself to the worst probability of success. 

“You’re not going to tell me where the Antichrist is, are you?” he asked. Just to check. It couldn’t hurt to check.

Aziraphale’s hand tightened on his. The angel didn’t say anything. Crowley tried not to let it hurt a second time.

“It’s okay,” he said instead. “I need to go home and sleep, angel. I’ll - I’ll call you in the morning, or something. Okay?”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand and let Crowley slide his out from underneath it. He hated walking away. He hated that Aziraphale didn’t ask him to stay. He hated that he hadn’t just walked away when Aziraphale had said  _ it’s over,  _ because it might have been easier if they were properly fighting not to think about the angel.

Crowley stalked through the night and felt the usual shivery recoil of the plants around him reacting to his demonic energies - amplified by his inner turmoil. He made it to the Bentley - parked incredibly illegally - and tossed himself in without much care. His hands found the leather of the steering wheel and his feet pressed the pedals with no conscious thought, the engine carrying him through the quietening London streets.

He didn’t know how long he’d driven for when his thoughts started to re-articulate themselves from the roiling soup of misery. Nothing useful. Of course not. Nothing like,  _ here’s where to find the Antichrist, _ or,  _ here’s what to do when you find him. _ These thoughts had no practical purpose. 

They said strange things, like  _ may as well make the most of the next day, huh? _ Crowley wondered vaguely what that might look like. He’d wanted to visit the Amazon rainforest and tell it to grow better since it’d started decreasing rapidly in size. That could take a while. What else did he want? For a demon, Crowley was starting to realize that he didn’t have very many wholly self-centred desires.

Oh.

Well, there was that. That one. 

Pale skin flushed a dark pink and moans of pleasure and hedony and a tongue twisting around his and -

_ Stop it.  _ He would only hurt himself. He would only tempt fate. He would only - but it was the last day. It was the last day, and what the fuck did he have left to lose? 

_ What’s the worst that could happen? _

Armageddon could be early, and they’d be killed mid-fuck. Crowley thought he actually wouldn’t mind that. Not a bad way to go, as ways go. He could ruin his friendship with Aziraphale. But - well, if he didn’t ask now, was he ever going to?

And what exactly was he going to ask?  _ Excuse me, but since you’re lying to me, why don’t we just fuck? _

Crowley huffed a sigh through his nose. The Bentley pulled itself up next to the bookshop, having apparently been driving towards it for some time. Crowley gripped the steering wheel tight in his hands. He had to get this right.

_ Angel, what a coincidence seeing you here, now, lose the pants.  _ Ugh.

_ Aziraphale, we have twenty hours to live, and I want to spend them wrapped up in you. _ That was slightly better. Maybe he should compose some kind of sonnet. He could just go back to his flat and find one he’d written over the last few centuries. 

_ I want to know how your thighs feel crushing my head. _ No, no, that wouldn’t -  _ I want to know how you taste. I want to fuck you until - _

The Bentley burst into song and Crowley swore, the music so loud it hurt his ears. 

_ Don't talk, baby, don't talk, body language, give me your body _

_ “Shut the fuck up,”  _ Crowley muttered, scrambling for the volume dial and turning it. Useless. The bloody thing was useless.

_ Just give me your body, give me your body _

A light came on in the bookshop and Crowley slouched down on the seat, praying Aziraphale wouldn’t see him. “Please,” he whispered to the car, stroking its dashboard. “Don’t do this to me.”

_ You got red lips, snakes in your eyes _

Crowley groaned and put his hands over his head. He would curl up and just wait to die. That would make it all go away. Right?

_ Long legs, great thighs, you've got the cutest ass I've ever seen _

Crowley miracled the car silent in utter desperation. He whispered an apology to the Bentley for the brute force it required as well as a promise to have stern words with it later.

Then he took three seconds to psych himself up. Three seconds of pure and undiluted overconfidence pouring through his veins, and he was out of the car, striding towards the bookshop doors, all the conviction in the world on his side. It was. It  _ was. _

He pushed the doors open. They were unlocked, and the wood slid forwards easily at his touch, welcoming, as if Aziraphale had been expecting - wanting - a visitor.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale stood in front of a bookshelf. He looked incredibly tired, hair ruffled into disarray and waistcoat crinkling with neglect.

Crowley took a deep breath and continued towards the angel. He had momentum. He would not lose it. He would  _ not. _

“Cro - oh!” Crowley only let up his pace when he was right at Aziraphale, his shoes touching the angel’s shoes, their breaths intermingling, heat close and ready. Aziraphale looked up at him with pink cheeks and wide blue eyes.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “If the world’s going to end, I can think of better ways to spend our time than apart.”

Aziraphale let out a ragged breath that almost threw Crowley off his stride.  _ Almost. _ He would do this, spend a stroke of bravery he  _ almost  _ didn’t have in him, and then he would reap whatever he’d sowed.

“I want to make this very clear,” said Crowley. He licked his lips, and watched Aziraphale’s eyes track the movement. “If you say no, I’m out of here, no questions asked. If you say yes, then - tonight I’m yours.”

“Mine…?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley could feel his momentum rapidly draining. He wanted to turn and run, to shrivel into snake form and hide at the bottom of a dusty box. But he didn’t. 

“So?” he gritted out instead.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened. Crowley could see his perfect tongue. It was so distracting that he nearly missed his angel’s reply.

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed, swaying close. “Yes.”

The sound travelled like wildfire through Crowley’s veins, burning through all defenses, all plans, all ideas of how any of this might go. He was burnt through and he was made anew from the ashes. And he was  _ hungry. _

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hips and brought him close. The angel gasped, and those eyes, they were not innocent. They were burning with cold fire, that desire to Know. 

“I want to ride you,” Crowley said. His voice was hoarse and rough like his throat had indeed been coated with ash. “I want you every way. I want you on all fours, and I want you to crush my head with your thighs, and I want to feast from you until I can’t anymore. I want you to touch me here,” he guided Aziraphale’s hand to the small of his back, “and here,” to his ass, “and here,” to his thigh, “and - oh,  _ fuck yes.” _

Aziraphale had figured out the last place on his own. Crowley clawed at his shoulders.

“Pull my hair,” he said. “Make me forget, angel. Can we please forget?”

Aziraphale moved his hand against that same blessed spot and Crowley moaned. A grin spread onto the angel’s face.

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, and then he had Crowley flipped and pinned against the shelves. “Bed or here?”

Crowley became aware that he was extremely wet. “I don’t care,” he gasped. “I just want you.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. Crowley felt a soft mattress beneath him, and then Aziraphale was on top of him, pressing him into it with deft, sure hands.

“How do you want me, again?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley trembled. “All the ways, angel.” He reached for Aziraphale’s face with a shaky hand. A stroke of tenderness, painted clear across his angel’s face, cracking and crumbling to ash and dust and destruction and - 

“Get on with it,” Crowley gasped. “Make me - I don’t want to remember my name, let alone this  _ mess.” _

Aziraphale nodded with wide eyes. “Then…?”

Crowley pushed his angel’s head down, down, down. “Get  _ on _ with it, I said.”

Aziraphale murmured assent, and then he was fumbling with Crowley’s pants and pulling them down to his ankles and fuck fuck  _ fuck,  _ that was what he was talking about, that was what he needed. Aziraphale’s hot breath ghosted across his clit and he groaned with need.

“Hands,” he gasped, feeling around the bed blindly. “I need your hands.”

Aziraphale’s hands found his and took them, lacing their fingers so tight it was a little painful. And then he  _ licked _ Crowley.

Crowley was not proud of the noise he made then, a high-pitched whine from the place his throat ended. Aziraphale licked again, and again, and sucked, and then Crowley lost track of what he was doing. He gave over to the arches his back yearned to form; he let the slow burn of coals long kindled erupt through his throat and fingers, scrabbling desperately at Aziraphale’s hands. 

“Crowley, you taste so -”

“Don’t stop  _ -” _

“But I -”

“Don’t  _ stop, _ angel.” Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale’s hands and looked down at the bright blue eyes peering up at him. “Please. Fuck. I need you.”

Aziraphale held his gaze for a moment, licked his lips, and went back to work. The molten thing within Crowley roared and roiled with delight. Aziraphale drew moan after moan from him, and then the feeling changed, turned inside out with heat and ice and fire and he was so fucking  _ close _ . He tried to stop his hips from jerking right into Aziraphale, but the angel didn’t seem to mind, and tightened his grip on Crowley’s hands.

Crowley could feel the edge of it now. It was clarity, certainty, knowledge in an entirely effable sense, and it hit him with all the grace of a freight train. He came with tremors and aftershocks and an angel’s head between his legs, the washed-out waves of pleasure pushing him back onto the mattress. 

Aziraphale crawled up him then, letting go of his hands. He was naked, and so was Crowley, miraculously. Aziraphale’s eyes were hard and intense on his, his mouth pink and soft and wet - with  _ Crowley. _

“You’re lovely,” Aziraphale said, and pressed a kiss to his chest. “So lovely.”

Heat rushed underneath Crowley’s skin, a cringe of terror,  _ please don’t come so close, angel, angel, please. _ With Crowley’s whines no longer breaking the air, it was still and quiet in the room, frenzied desire ironed over with a relative peace.

Crowley couldn’t manage it.

“Crowley, about tomorrow, if -”

“No,” he snarled, and sat up suddenly, forcing Aziraphale onto his hands and knees. “That - no. That stays  _ outside _ of here, understand?”

Aziraphale nodded. Blue eyes latched onto Crowley’s.

“In here - in here, it’s just us, and nothing else,” said Crowley. He took Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulled him close. “But we have to make it like that. We have to make it  _ beautiful, _ angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered, and he nodded again. “Okay.”

Crowley was going to have to take charge again if those starry blue eyes were anything to go by. He flipped them and straddled Aziraphale.

“No more talking,” he said, and took the angel’s hands and placed them firmly on his hips.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, and Crowley kissed him without thinking. If he had been thinking he wouldn’t have kissed Aziraphale for a multitude of reasons. One; he had been longing to kiss Aziraphale for centuries, and it had to be perfect, and this was - not. Two; once he had started he wasn’t really sure if he would be able to stop. And three. Three is a usually a good number, but in this case Crowley wasn’t so sure. The third reason was that kissing meant a whole lot, and Crowley was, not so far below the surface, very much a romantic. If he kissed someone, it would mean something. And tonight was supposed to be about erasing all meaning from the world.

Aziraphale’s mouth was open and soft under his, and he let out a little breathy noise of surprise, and Crowley kissed him harder to quieten him, and it was too late anyway. Aziraphale kissed him back once he’d gotten over his shock. Crowley could taste himself on the angel’s mouth. It was all wrong, the order was mucked up, this wasn’t how he’d wanted it to be. They were both desperate and clumsy, tongue and teeth and lips a blur. Aziraphale nibbled on Crowley’s lip, and he gasped, limbs freezing up in his surprise.

“Oh, gosh, sorry,” said Aziraphale.

_ “Harder,” _ Crowley growled, rolling his hips against Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale gave a little moan of appreciation and bit his lip again. Harder. Crowley sucked in a breath and felt the shoot of pain go straight to his groin. He rocked against Aziraphale again. The angel’s hands were digging into his hips and  _ fuck, _ he liked that.

Crowley lifted one of his hands from Aziraphale’s curls and slid it down his chest. The angel sighed against his lips, and wriggled his hips excitedly. Crowley finally got his hand between Aziraphale’s legs. He was very wet.

“Oh,” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley’s fingers stroked up his labia. “Oh.”

Crowley felt a warmth travel through his body, rushing from his fingers rubbing Aziraphale’s clit right to the top of his head. He rocked his hips as he did so. 

“Please - I need -” Aziraphale gasped.

“Yes?” Crowley asked.

“Inside me,” said Aziraphale, his eyes closing in bliss when Crowley followed his instruction. He slipped one finger in, then two, sliding in and out in a gentle rhythm. Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s shoulders with desperate hands. His nails, always the perfectly sweet length for scratching (or so Crowley had always thought), did just that. 

“Yes,” Crowley whined, arching his back into the touch. Aziraphale got the hint and raked his nails more deliberately down Crowley’s back. Crowley was not proud of the noise he made.

Aziraphale made an imploring noise, and Crowley realized he’d stopped his fingers’ motion. He muttered a  _ fuck, sorry _ and went back to his work, letting his thumb slide circles over Aziraphale’s clit as he thrust in. He was so immersed in the flush of Aziraphale’s chest, the slick of his hair against his forehead, the little whimpers he made, that he didn’t realise Aziraphale’s hand was at his own clit until it was - very obviously -  _ there. _

Crowley’s hips jerked in surprise. He looked at Aziraphale, ready to question, but the angel just gave him a smirk and began to slide his fingers back and forth. Just the way Crowley liked. That _bastard._ _Oh, so it’s like that, is it?_ Crowley grinned and pulled his fingers out of Aziraphale, letting them slide slick lines up his labia. Aziraphale’s fingers stuttered, but he kept going, and then they hit a - a _spot_ \- that was much too sensitive and everything that Crowley needed.

He groaned and ground against Aziraphale’s fingers, wanting,  _ needing. _ Aziraphale grinned and kissed him again, then his tongue was in Crowley’s mouth and he couldn’t - he could - he  _ should _ keep his hand moving, he wanted so badly to draw those sounds out of Aziraphale, but with those pink perfect lips against his, it was all he could do not to combust from the circuit completing within him. 

_ “Hnnnng,” _ Crowley groaned, feeling stars start to spark to life within him.

Aziraphale made a noise of amusement in the back of his throat, and Crowley could only push himself closer despite lying on top of him. Then Aziraphale slid a finger into him.

If Aziraphale was the lifeblood of the sky - and it certainly felt that way - then Crowley’s cup was overflowing.  _ Angel, let me drink my fill from you, let me choke and cease this way. I wouldn’t mind. _

His hands came to rest upon the angel, and he smeared the wet of Aziraphale onto his tongue, breaking the kiss for a moment. Aziraphale made no effort to hide his arousal at that. He added a second finger to slide into Crowley, and Crowley was very aware of how dumb he had been struck. 

The push and pull of him, though - the gentle stretch that flamed through Crowley inside - and Aziraphale’s other hand soothed across his back, re-igniting the scratch-sensitive skin. He was  _ burning _ everywhere, and everywhere was Aziraphale, and he couldn’t even kiss him properly for the trembling of his lips, and then, and then, and then -

Crowley came.

If his first orgasm had been a freight train, this was one of those double-decker jumbo jets, travelling at full speed, on fire - scratch that, there were two, or possibly three, and they were all hitting him at once. He jerked and panted and clung to the heat of the angel beneath him. 

When he opened his eyes, Aziraphale was smiling at him with blue eyes that Crowley had to fight not to let himself drown in.

“You don’t play fair,” he said, already slipping his hand back between Aziraphale’s legs.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but it turned into a sigh of pleasure halfway through whatever sassy remark he was about to make. Crowley smirked. And then he got to work.

Aziraphale came in less than thirty seconds of fingers working, slick and fast and pressed hard to his clit. Crowley kissed him as he rode out his orgasm, wishing he could drink in Aziraphale’s hitched breaths, and doing his best to anyway.

“And you say  _ I _ don’t play fair,” Aziraphale murmured, smiling against his lips. “Damn you.”

Crowley gasped in mock-horror. “Me? Damned? Never.”

Ice-blue eyes opened, and Crowley felt warm. Just a smile - just one smile, together. How bad could that be?

Then Aziraphale spoke.

“Damned,” he murmured, more to himself than Crowley. “You’re - oh God, we’re -”

And just like that, the spell was shattered. Reality poured in around the walls Crowley hadn’t realized they’d constructed.  _ Damned. Fallen. Demon. _ And just like that, something slammed into Aziraphale’s eyes. A wall of fear and shame and distance.

“Angel?” he asked, putting a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale flinched away. “Don’t,” he said. “I can’t. I can’t do this, Crowley.”

Crowley took his hand back but made no move to slide off Aziraphale. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

“Please, angel,” he said, but he could hear his own desperation, could taste the failure in the air.

Aziraphale pushed him off - gently - and slid to the side of the bed, sitting there with his head in his hands.

“We can’t just pretend the world’s not ending,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley, who had been fully prepared to do just that, shuffled forwards to sit beside Aziraphale. “What’s the point of doing anything else, though?”

“Oughtn’t we to - to try?”

“Can’t do that if you don’t tell me where the flipping  _ Antichrist  _ -”

Aziraphale shot him a  _ look. _ Oh, so that was still off limits, was it? Well that was just so very  _ high and mighty, _ and Crowley opened his mouth to tell him exactly that, when Aziraphale’s hand came up to cover his mouth.

“No, don’t,” he said, suddenly looking wretched. “Please. Let’s not argue again.”

Crowley was torn between staying quiet (and maintaining the hope of more sex) or arguing (and maintaining the hope that the world wouldn’t end). He stayed quiet. For now.

“I’m meeting with Gabriel tomorrow - no, don’t, don’t start,  _ please.” _ Crowley frowned but let Aziraphale’s hand cover his mouth again. “I’m meeting with Gabriel tomorrow morning. And I’ll - if that doesn’t - if he doesn’t -”

_ He’s not going to help, _ Crowley wanted to scream.  _ Don’t you get that by now? _

But Aziraphale had never Fallen. Innocence clung to him like feathers. No, he still didn’t  _ get that _ , and Crowley wasn’t sure if he ever would.

“Yes?” he said instead. Aziraphale was stammering, and they had to get this conversation back on track. So that they could - well.

“We’ll decide what to do after that.”

Crowley didn’t miss the use of  _ we. _ He felt his heart lift, just a little.  ** _We’ll _ ** _ decide what to do. _

“Together,” he said before he could help himself.

Aziraphale bit his lip, but he nodded. Even if he didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. They would decide.  _ Together. _

“But until then…” Crowley trailed off. How did you politely ask your Divine Nemesis, best friend of six thousand years, and newly acquired allegiance:  _ wanna fuck again? _

Luckily, Aziraphale seemed to have the same idea. “Well, we’ve got - hmm - about six hours. We could - that is to say, if you didn’t want to - I know how fond you are of sleeping - it’s awfully late, but -”

“I owe you one, don’t I?” Crowley said, doing his best to appear casual. Just mates helping mates. Bros helping bros. 

Aziraphale stammered and blushed, ducking his head. “I don’t think it works like that,” he muttered. Crowley struggled to contain a smile and brought a hand to Aziraphale’s chin, tipping it back up.

“But it could,” he said, infusing all the temptations he’d ever been good for in his voice. Aziraphale’s blue eyes met his. A little of the wall crumbled away as Crowley’s thumb stroked along his jawbone. “It could work like that. If you wanted it to.”

There was a beat, which Crowley’s heart took far too much objection to, and then Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose - it could.”

Crowley slid to his knees and shuffled in front of Aziraphale.

“Oh,” said the angel, looking a little nervous and more than a little pleased. “Oh, you don’t have to -”

Crowley rolled his eyes and gently spread Aziraphale’s thighs apart. Oh Someone, those thighs would be the death of him. He kissed the soft skin near Aziraphale’s knee, down the side, nipping at gentle folds. Aziraphale’s leg jerked beneath him, and he paused to look up.

“Alright?”

“Yes, yes, please, don’t stop,” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley went back to work.

He kissed a line up Aziraphale’s thigh, relishing the soft skin beneath his lips, wanting nothing more than to press his face there and drown in the angel. He nuzzled further up and up, until Aziraphale’s thigh stopped and he could smell - well. 

“Sorry,” said Aziraphale. Crowley looked up to see the angel cover his face with his hands. “I’m a bit - excited.”

Crowley honestly didn’t know how to reply to that.  _ How can you be sorry for that? Can’t you see this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me? I get to do this for you, I get to be so close to you, I can’t believe it. _ Instead of saying any of that, he leaned forwards, intending to prove his enthusiasm.

He thought he might have gotten his point across when Aziraphale’s hands fisted in his hair. Or perhaps when Aziraphale groaned, long and low. And definitely, most definitely when Aziraphale’s thighs trembled around his head, clenching just a little. Crowley’s air supply was cut off, and he felt his own warm arousal building again. Fuck, but he liked that a little too much.

The snake tongue was definitely an advantage in these situations, and he experimented around Aziraphale’s entrance, testing the give and take, waiting for his angel’s reaction.

His reaction, it turned out, was to whisper  _ please. _ Crowley let his tongue slide inside Aziraphale, inhumanly long and inhumanly pleasurable.

“Oh,  _ Crowley,”  _ Aziraphale moaned, his thighs jerking and twitching around Crowley’s head. Crowley found himself seized by a sudden and complete desire to have his head crushed by Aziraphale’s thighs, and thrust deeper with his tongue. 

Aziraphale came with a ruined sigh. Crowley’s jaw ached and his tongue was rubbed near-numb, and he was quite sure he’d never been more content. He took his tongue back into his mouth, but didn’t pull away, relishing in the feel of Aziraphale’s pleasure against his lips.

“Oh, God,” Aziraphale said after a few moments. “You’re really quite good at that. Did you know?”

Crowley looked up and smirked. “Well, yeah.”

“I think I need a cup of tea,” Aziraphale said, rubbing at his eyes. “A bit of a breather.”

Crowley tried to hide the way his heart plummeted to his shoes and puddled there. 

“Oh, yeah, sure. Breather. Great.” 

Aziraphale’s hand found its way under his chin, and he tilted Crowley’s head up.

“Don’t worry, dearheart, this is just a - a - a preparation. For the next round.” 

Crowley was erupting into ice-blue flames. He swallowed and tore his gaze from Aziraphale’s.

“Hrmgh.”

Aziraphale patted his head, and then got up and bustled into the little kitchen next door. Crowley could hear tea being made; Aziraphale tapping the teaspoon against the mugs in the way he always did when he was happy.  _ Happy. _

Crowley let his face fall against the side of the bed, obscuring the light from his vision, and gave his mind a few minutes to process and reboot accordingly. He was still sprawled there when Aziraphale entered the room again and tutted.

“Really, my dear. Come on, up you get. Your tea’s just here.” Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale setting the tea on the nightstand, miraculously clear of its usual books.

“Mmmgh,” Crowley agreed, and forced himself up, shaking the lethargy out of his system, crawling over the bed to take his tea. He took a sip, and winced at the way it scalded his sex-raw throat, and then inwardly yelled at himself about his throat being raw from Aziraphale.

“Now then,” Aziraphale said, sitting primly on the bed next to him, hugging his tea with his hands. “I’ve been thinking. Er. Would you be amenable to some - erm - suggestions?”

“What is it?” Oh God, was Aziraphale going to give him  _ feedback _ on his sexual prowess?

“Just. Well. I’ve always rather liked - you know. Taking charge.”

Crowley choked on his tea. “You have?” 

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said mildly. “Would you - mind that?”

Crowley swallowed his too-hot mouthful of tea to say, as quickly as possible, “No!”

Aziraphale shot him a smirk. “You sure?”

Crowley nodded fervently. “Quite sure. If, uh, you are. Of course.”

Aziraphale’s smirk turned to a near-feral grin. “Completely, my dear.”

Crowley swallowed.

“What are you comfortable with?” Aziraphale asked. “Can I tie you up?”

Crowley was starting to immensely regret accepting this cup of tea, all of which was apparently going to either burn him or choke him. He nodded mutely, unable to break Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Lovely. And would you mind if I - if I sort of built you up, only to deny you? I believe it’s called edging.”

“Sounds good,” Crowley croaked.

“Of course, we’ll need a safeword,” said Aziraphale, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “What works for you? How about… Eden?”

Crowley groaned at that. “Really?”

“Well, you’re not going to forget it, are you?”

“Ugh,” said Crowley. “Fine. Eden, then.”

“Is there anything else you’d like, dear?” Aziraphale’s eyes were too large and too blue. It was like looking into very blue twin suns.

“Er,” said Crowley hesitantly, “I… Well, I like - um.”

“Yes?” Aziraphale prompted, looking hopeful.

“You can - hurt me. Not properly, just - you know. Playing.” Crowley felt his face go completely red, and he stared resolutely down at his tea.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “You like that?”

Crowley made a vague noise in the back of his throat. “Nothing too - too much. Just some light spanking, if you’re - you know. Okay with that.”

He glanced up to see Aziraphale smile, and fuck, he was a total goner. Completely and utterly spent. Fuck.

“Let’s go over this again,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt his crotch start to warm again at the purr in his voice. “Safeword is Eden. I’ll tie you up, and - do what I like. Spank you. Tease you. And you’ll tell me - you’ll tell me if it’s too much, or if you want something different. Won’t you?”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth like a fish, nodding.

“Crowley, I need to hear you. Do you want this?”

Crowley coughed his voice into action. “Y-yes. I really - really do.”

“Oh, and dear, if I ask you for your colour, do you know what that means?”

Crowley swallowed. “Is it really - oh - okay, fine. What does it mean?”

“Red means stop, immediately, completely. Green means go. Orange means somewhere in between - we’ll stop and talk about it. Alright?”

Crowley nodded, willing himself not to tremble.

“Crowley, you have to  _ say -” _

“Yes,” Crowley said quickly. “Yes. It’s alright. Better than alright. Um. Do we just…?” Crowley waved his hands about awkwardly. He was really hoping Aziraphale would take the lead on this. And thank Someone, he did.

Aziraphale leaned over to set his tea down on the bedside table, then plucked the half-full cup out of Crowley’s hands to do the same. The cup  _ clinked _ in its saucer as it met the wood of the table. Crowley swallowed and looked at the angel now standing over him.

“Lie on the bed,” Aziraphale said. His voice rang with conviction - a curious authority that he usually chose not to show. Crowley was forcibly reminded that Aziraphale was a Principality, and god, if that didn’t make him wet like nothing else. He scrambled back on the bed and flopped onto his back.

“Good boy,” said Aziraphale, sitting beside him, threading a hand through his hair. “Lift your hands up - on the headboard, yes, like that.”

Crowley held fast to the smooth wood as Aziraphale tied his wrists to the headboard. He looked up when they were held tight, at the tartan his angel had claimed for himself, at his hands secure and wrapped in Aziraphale’s favourite accessory. He let himself smile, and when he looked back at Aziraphale, the angel was smiling softly back at him.

“You’re very good, aren’t you?” the angel murmured. “So good for me.”

Crowley shivered. Aziraphale let his eyes wander Crowley’s body, hiding none of the fire in his gaze, a flush burning up underneath it and onto Crowley’s skin. And then the angel was on top of him, pinning the lower half of his body in place, too, and Crowley’s skin burst into flames.

Aziraphale kissed him fiercely, his lips pushing Crowley’s head down into the pillow, his hands firm on Crowley’s arms. Crowley rushed to meet him with his tongue, but Aziraphale drew back. Then he kissed Crowley, again. Again, when Crowley eagerly reciprocated, Aziraphale pulled away.

“Let me,” Aziraphale whispered. “Don’t move.”

Crowley locked his muscles in place, barely daring to blink, to breathe. Aziraphale leaned forwards and kissed him, and this time, he didn’t do anything besides open his mouth. The angel took his time, delving deep with his tongue, kissing around the corners of Crowley’s mouth. Crowley’s lips trembled with the effort of not moving, but he kept them as still as he could. What he couldn’t help, though, were the noises Aziraphale drew from him.

As Aziraphale’s tongue settled against his own again, as the thick weight of it threatened to undo Crowley and everything he’d ever known, he let out a whine. Aziraphale drew back and Crowley let out another whine, unable to speak.

“You’re being so good,” Aziraphale whispered, cupping his cheek with a gentle hand. “You’re doing so well.” 

Now, one might be excused for thinking that Anthony J. Crowley was a tough and hardened mafia member upon first glance. One might be excused for thinking he’d be the type to - well - to dominate a little in bed. However. As Crowley himself had known and kept hidden deep within himself for millennia, he was a sucker for commands. For rules. For punishment. He hated himself for it, the sick irony of his questioning nature wanting commands, but it was what it was.

In Crowley’s opinion, the one that really was the cherry on top of the icing, as it were, was praise. Well. He wasn’t sure if it’d work with anyone  _ other _ than Aziraphale, actually. Aziraphale’s praise. In the most innocent of situations, it did the most obscene things to him. Aziraphale might thank him for passing a cup of tea, and Crowley would blush. Aziraphale had once told him  _ well done _ when he’d miracled up a belgian square for the angel, that he’d gotten it  _ spot on _ . Crowley had had to rush home, lock and check the door three separate times, before collapsing on the floor and - well.

Now that Aziraphale was above him, naked, perfect, and flushed pink, the praise went right through his ears and down, down, down. Crowley bucked his hips desperately.

“You like that, don’t you?” Aziraphale said, his eyes shining with the discovery. “Well. You’re going to have to earn it, dear boy. Now, hold still.”

Crowley did his best, but when Aziraphale bent and began to nuzzle him like that, it really was difficult. Aziraphale didn’t kiss like a normal person would, with a chaste press of lips against skin. No. Aziraphale  _ devoured,  _ with every part of him. He nuzzled at Crowley’s stomach, and nibbled gently at his nipples, and sucked red marks into his chest. Aziraphale scraped his teeth over Crowley’s hipbones, and they both groaned, and he did it again, and Crowley couldn’t help it, he couldn’t, he rattled the headboard in an effort to get free and -

_ “Crowley,” _ Aziraphale growled, lifting his head. “I told you not to move.”

Crowley smirked at the angel, and that was it, apparently. That was the cue Aziraphale had been waiting for, to flip him onto his stomach. He let out an undignified yelp of  _ Aziraphale?  _ as he flopped.

“You’ve been such a good boy so far.”

Crowley whined again when Aziraphale’s fingers traced down his spine, tingling, setting him alight. His mouth opened involuntarily when Aziraphale’s fingers tightened against his skin and drew down his back slowly, slowly, oh  _ god  _ that was good. The spark of pain as Aziraphale’s nails dragged against his skin was nothing short of heavenly, and wasn’t that ironic.

“Colour?”

“Green,” Crowley gasped against the pillow. “So green.”

“Mmmm. Good.” Aziraphale pulled his fingers down Crowley’s back again, moving luxuriously, and when Crowley turned his head back to look at Aziraphale, his expression was one Crowley recognized from oysters all those years ago. He met Crowley’s gaze, and didn’t break it as he scored down Crowley’s back again, not hard enough to break the skin, but harder than before.  _ Mark me, _ Crowley wanted to say.  _ I want a mark for every release you draw from me. I want to have all of you carved into me, so that I might take you with me tomorrow. _

What Crowley actually said was  _ guuuuhhhhh. _

“Mmmm, what lovely noises you make, my dear,” Aziraphale said, digging his nails into the rise of Crowley’s flesh around his spine. “So  _ expressive.” _

“Mnnnnggghhh,” Crowley said, completely unable to fathom his luck. “Hnng.”

Aziraphale let out a little sigh that exploded several fuses in Crowley’s brain, and leant down, trailing his mouth over the marks his nails had just left. He was soft at first, gentle lips against tender skin, his tongue tracing red lines up Crowley’s back. And then he was - not. Crowley hadn’t pegged Aziraphale for taking so much pleasure in biting, but -  _ oysters, crêpes, pears, sushi  _ \- perhaps he should have guessed.

Aziraphale left a trail of little oval hickies up Crowley’s back - luxuriously, taking the time to suck and lick and savour every patch of skin. Crowley was distantly aware of himself dripping (oh Someone, he was  _ actually _ dripping), but all he could really do was moan his way through all the syllables he knew and then some.

He’d just reached  _ aaaaaaiccck  _ when Aziraphale sat up from his work, and appraised him as if he were a work of art, hands fluttering over the marks he’d made. 

“Very nice,” Aziraphale murmured. “You’re so good, Crowley, so - so - delectable.”

Through the delicious fog in his head, Crowley mumbled, “I’m not a  _ muffin,  _ angel.”

Aziraphale smirked. “No, dear, you’re  _ much _ better. Now, shall I give you a good licking?”

“A - a what?”

“Spanking.”

“That is  _ not _ what you sa -  _ oh - mmmmmf.” _ Crowley had been caught off guard. Clever angel, with his sneaky hands, landing a warmup blow on his buttocks. The pain was not so much pain as a sting of heat sliding through his skin.

Aziraphale brought his hand down again, and Crowley’s thighs jumped.

“Colour?”

_ “Harder,”  _ Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale let out a huff of laughter, but insisted. “Colour, dear?”

“Fucking - fucking  _ green. Harder, _ ange -”

Aziraphale had complied with his request, and Crowley was tingling from head to toe, yeah, that was  _ it, _ that good, good, great stuff. He heard the  _ thwacks _ before he felt the blows, like a starting gun, an excuse to jump out of the blocks, to dive headfirst into the sensation.

Crowley was assaulted with the sudden dizzying need to do this forever, every day, all days, to keep Aziraphale up all night, sleep into half the next day, to get breakfast looking properly fucked, to come back, have lazy afternoon sex, winding up to the night to repeat the whole thing.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t be sleeping in tomorrow, because Aziraphale had to meet fucking  _ Gabriel _ in some misguided last-minute saving the world gesture. They wouldn’t  _ be  _ by the end of tomorrow.  _ Tomorrow _ wouldn’t be. Fuck.

“Colour?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley hesitated. “Colour, dear?”

“Can you just -” Crowley started.

“Crowley,  _ colour.” _

“G-green.” Crowley’s voice went all high-pitched and wavery. He hated when it did that. “It’s not you, angel -”

But Aziraphale was already loosening the ties on Crowley’s hands.

“No!” he protested. “No, it’s  _ not you. Please.” _

Aziraphale paused, and Crowley took the opportunity to miracle his hands firmly re-tied.

“Can you go faster?” he asked.

“Faster?” Aziraphale echoed.

“I just - I need to - be overwhelmed.”

“Crowley, dear, let’s just take a little time out. To talk about this. We need to have  _ trust, _ and you need to tell me when something’s wrong, you can’t always rely on me to just see it.”

“Ughhhh,” Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale gave him a Look: eyebrows raised, lips pursed, angel  _ done. _ The ties fell off his hands.

“Fine. Fine! We’ll - we’ll talk. About - something, or whatever.”

Aziraphale sighed, and dropped the Look, and shuffled closer to him. Crowley pushed himself up the pillows into a half-curled, half-sitting position. 

“I just want to know what went wrong,” Aziraphale said, taking his hand and looking into his eyes with those too-blue ones. “So we can avoid it in future. Was I being too hard? The pain - too much?”

Crowley shook his head. “Angel, it was - it was - ngk. I just can’t - fuck, I can’t get tomorrow out of my head _ , _ and this is why I didn’t want to stop, because I don’t want to think, and I don’t want to bring it all up again, because now you’ll have to think about it too, and I don’t want to talk or any of it. I just - I just want to - to forget it all, and to have - to have you. For as long as I can.”

He took a deep breath. And another. And tried not to think about the salt starting to burn at the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his tone as reverential as if he was reading from a prayerbook, as despondent as if the world was Ending tomorrow. Well, today. “That’s really quite understandable. But despite all of that, you know, I need to be able to trust you.”

Crowley bit the inside of his cheek. “I know.”

“Good. And you’ll tell me? If it happens again?”

Crowley nodded, and his body gravitated towards Aziraphale just the tiniest bit, and then the angel had pulled Crowley into his arms and held him close. And this - it wasn’t - it wasn’t for anything, it wasn’t to forget, it wasn’t a distraction, it was Aziraphale, holding him because - because…? 

“Angel?” Crowley asked, not sure what he was asking, more terrified of the question than the answer.

Aziraphale held him tighter, and Crowley’s face was squashed against a sweat-damp shoulder. It was rather lovely.

“I - I just want you to know - I very much appreciate you trying to protect me. From the reminder of the Ending, and all that. It’s very - you’re very - very sweet.” Aziraphale sounded oddly choked. Was Crowley squashing his airway?

“Nnnn,” Crowley mumbled against the salt of Aziraphale’s skin. “‘M not sweet.”

Aziraphale chuckled, and his hands stroked over Crowley’s back. Crowley tentatively brought his arms up to fold around the angel. Said angel sighed in contentment and laid his head in Crowley’s hair. Crowley had lost track of the general mood of the room after his second orgasm, but if he had to take a wild stab in the dark, he would say: tender.

“You are, though,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s hair, his voice muffled and still choked. “You’re sweet. You bring me chocolates, and you save me from guillotines, and you - you - my books. You saved my books.”

The mood of the room - or, rather, Crowley’s estimate of it - swung from tender to terrified. Or that might just be Crowley. Terrified of the emotion that had laid itself thick into Aziraphale’s words, of the feeling which inked itself into Crowley’s skin underneath the angel’s gently stroking fingers, of the rise of his shoulders, shaking with something deep and hidden.

“I, um,” said Crowley uselessly, and buried his face further into Aziraphale. “‘M not all that.”

_ “Crow _ ley _ ,” _ Aziraphale said, his voice cracking, his breath ragged in quite a different way from the past couple of hours. “You’re too good to me. You always - you just - I don’t know why you bother with me anymore. I wish I could - oh, but you must know -”

_ “Angel,”  _ Crowley began, because this was getting far too close to the brink for comfort now, Crowley was just barely hanging on to the steering wheel, desperate to swerve.  _ Turn turn turn. _ “I don’t have to  _ bother  _ with you, you’re just - we just - we’re just here, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale sniffed, and Crowley felt a little point of pressure laid against his skull. Had Aziraphale just kissed his hair? And why did that make him more incoherent than the fucking  _ spanking, _ for Christ’s sake? 

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale said weakly. “But I - well. It means something to me. You - you mean something to me.”

_ Now’s when you TURN the fucking CAR, you IDIOT, backpedal or swerve or just - anything except watching it fly over the edge towards the sea you can never climb back from - don’t ask him what  _ something  _ means, oh Someone, what the fuck does SOMETHING mean?  _

“Oh,” said Crowley, feeling very much like he ought to extricate himself from Aziraphale’s chest and look him in the eyes, and also like he could never so much as look at those icemelt eyes again without his chest ripping into little pieces. “I - me too. Something. You mean - something.”

All six thousand years worth of Crowley simultaneously screamed in triumph, melted in agonizing embarrassment, and froze into oblivion. Luckily it was a state they were quite used to. All six thousand years worth of Crowley had been developed alongside a certain angel, after all.

Aziraphale kissed his hair again, and again, and tightened his hold, and it all ended up with Crowley feeling extremely, well, tender.

“We don’t have to keep going,” Aziraphale said after a while. “If you’re - you know. If it’s too much. We can just sleep, or, you’ll sleep, I’ll read. If you want.”

“You  _ what?  _ Angel, you can’t be serious -”

“Alright! I just, I didn’t want to pressure you, my dear.” And when Crowley pulled back from Aziraphale’s hold, his eyes were so precious with worry that he forgot all about being nervous to meet them. 

“You could never,” he said, and leaned forwards to kiss Aziraphale. “Never,” he said in between kisses, “ever,” kiss, “ever.”

Aziraphale smiled, a shy thing, and blushed, and fuck, he was so beautiful.

“Well, then, if you’d like -”

“Yes,” Crowley said too quickly, and Aziraphale laughed. He pushed Crowley down against the bed again, and Crowley folded back easily. Aziraphale was over him on hands and knees, a delicious warmth not quite close enough to suffocate Crowley the way he wanted.

“Oh, would you, really?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes shining. “Are you quite sure?”

“Shut it,” Crowley groaned, and shoved him half-heartedly.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Crowley felt smooth cloth work its way around his hands. Aziraphale pushed them above his head. He complied. 

“Good boy,” said Aziraphale, smiling,  _ glowing _ at him. Crowley felt himself flush red - not just in the face. Aziraphale’s glow turned to a smirk, something with knowledge behind it, and he shuffled downwards to get in position for -  _ oh. _ He wasn’t mucking around this time.

Crowley could be eaten by Aziraphale for-fucking-ever. He had the perfect friction, the perfect slick, the perfect level of pressure and twist and glide. Crowley didn’t notice the fingers creeping up until they came to rest against his entrance. A question.

Crowley answered it with a garbled mash of  _ yessssshrmgrhghyesss. _

Aziraphale slid his finger in, and Crowley lost track of all the syllables leaving his mouth. Something about this, those plump and mouthwatering fingers, claiming him, the tongue Aziraphale graced with only the finest delicacies - Crowley felt so honoured, with the steady hisses Aziraphale drew from him. And graceful. He was grace-full as the angel worked on him.

Crowley clenched around Aziraphale’s finger, bucking his hips a little. Aziraphale paused from his work long enough to tell him to  _ stay still, _ and Crowley, who had always had a slight problem with authority, brought his tied hands to Aziraphale’s head and pushed him in further, oh  _ fuck  _ yes, that was it. The almost-forced edge of pressure, and Aziraphale moaned and shuddered beneath him, and began to thrust his finger in warm, thick, gentle motions.

Crowley panted helplessly, squirming on the bed, his legs trembling with the effort of staying still. And then Aziraphale’s tongue began to work faster, a whirlwind of wet heat that Crowley could do nothing but follow with his own mounting arousal. When Aziraphale added a second finger, Crowley realized -

“I’m close,” he gasped.

“Good,” Aziraphale moaned into him, and the deep vibrations of that voice against him was enough to undo Crowley. He came with his mouth open in a silent shout, and his legs wrapped themselves around Aziraphale’s shoulders, clenching  _ hard _ as he jerked with his release.

“Oh, well done,” said Aziraphale from between his legs, petting his slick hand over Crowley’s thighs. “You’re very good, love.”

Crowley shivered and let Aziraphale’s head up, holding his tied hands awkwardly in front of him. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he mumbled. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and drew his hands down Crowley’s shoulders in a comforting motion.

“You did,” he said softly, and those eyes were too big and too blue to look at anymore - so Crowley didn’t. He looked away, and felt the last of the high of release ebb out of him, and Aziraphale made a gentle tutting noise. “You’re so beautiful.”

Crowley huffed, and kept staring at his toes. Aziraphale stroked down his shoulders again, a long, tingly, soft motion.

“Well, then,” the angel said. “I - erm - colour?”

Crowley looked up, bemused. “What?”

“I mean, do you want to keep - you know - going?”

“Angel - you - what kind of question is that? We just talked about this, we said, it  _ means _ something, of course I want to -”

“Alright, alright, I was only checking,” Aziraphale said, holding his hands up. “Right. Then it’s my turn.”

Crowley licked his lips and nodded.

“Get on the floor, on your knees.” The conviction was back, the weight of a Principality hanging into his words. Crowley was quick to comply, and sat with his knees sinking into the plush rug underneath, his hands still tied in front of him. Aziraphale shuffled to sit on the edge of the bed. Spread his legs wide.

Crowley had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“Touch me,” Aziraphale commanded. He leaned over to the bedside table and pulled a book off it. Crowley swallowed, eyeing its weight and heft. That would leave quite a mark. “I said,  _ touch me,” _ Aziraphale repeated, an edge to his tone making an appearance. And then he thumbed open the book and began to read.

Crowley stared at him, his mouth open. 

“You can’t be -”

“Colour?” Aziraphale interrupted, his eyes still on the book in front of him.

“Green.”

“Touch me, Crowley. I won’t tell you again.”

A bubble of that promise expanded in Crowley. He would love to find out what could happen if he disobeyed. But - it was Aziraphale’s turn. And he looked simply divine, pink and wet and open for Crowley. So he reached out with both hands, an awkward angle given his restraint, and ran gentle fingers up Aziraphale’s labia.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Aziraphale said primly, pushing his spectacles up his nose, and - fuck, when had he put his specs on? “This is a rather good book.”

Crowley set his jaw and retraced his pattern, up and down the slick folds of angelflesh, with more urgency. He reached with his other hand, his right hand, to draw circles over Aziraphale’s clit, gently at first, and then harder as the angel still showed no response. His left hand slid downwards, past that silken flesh to Aziraphale’s entrance.

Crowley let his fingers sit there as he continued to gently lavish Aziraphale’s clit with gentle, firm strokes, and he looked up to the angel. He appeared entirely engrossed in his book, his face stuck in that concentrated expression it always was when he read. But Crowley knew better. He could hear the tiny hitch in Aziraphale’s breathing as he pushed in, could read between the faint lines that appeared on his forehead, could see his eyes were unmoving and fixed on a single point of the page.

Crowley pushed his finger in slowly to the first knuckle, and let the pad of it curl against the press of Aziraphale’s inner walls. He changed his movement against his clit, let it become softer, more teasing than anything, pulling at the skin around it rather than making direct contact.

Aziraphale bit his lip, but didn’t put down the book. 

Alright, then. Crowley would do better.

He pushed his finger all the way into Aziraphale, dragged it back out, and pushed in again, setting a pace Crowley intended to be agonizingly slow. He leaned forwards and let his tongue flick against Aziraphale’s clit a few times before continuing the teasing motions with his fingers. He looked up.

Aziraphale’s cheeks had gone quite pink, and his lip was still caught between his teeth, going white underneath the pressure. But he still hadn’t put down the blasted book,  _ Paradise Lost, stupid stupid boring stupid Milton. _

“Colour?” Crowley asked, smirking.

The angel didn’t look at him, glaring at his page.  _ “Green. _ Goodness, have you even started? I barely noticed.”

Oh, so they were playing that game now, were they?

Crowley slipped another finger in alongside his first, which Aziraphale accommodated really very nicely. He let his other hand work closer to the sensitive nub, let it brush and rub there once every few strokes,  _ keep him on the edge, _ that’s it. He crooked the fingers inside Aziraphale to press against that soft spot, taking a gamble,  _ do you like this, angel? _

Judging by how white Aziraphale’s fingers turned where he gripped the book, angel did like. Angel liked very much. And so Crowley did it again, and again, and then the third finger just sort of happened, and Aziraphale’s thighs were quivering now. But he still hadn’t dropped that stupid fucking book. And if there was one thing Crowley would not do, it was back down from a challenge.

Crowley let his fourth finger - yes, it reached, with just a minor bending of space - tease at Aziraphale’s other entrance, the pucker past his perineum. He began to really go for it on his clit at the same time, fingers stroking one after the other, letting that raw exposed nerve have all it wanted.

The book hit the floor with a  _ smack. _

Crowley let the wide smile he’d been holding in spread across his face. He looked at Aziraphale, ready to crow about his victory, but was met with the sort of ice-and-fire urgency that had become familiar in the last few hours.

“Bed. Now.” Aziraphale said, and scrambled backwards, snapping his fingers and miracling more pillows to fall back on. Crowley didn’t need telling twice, and followed, lying on his front in the space between Aziraphale’s legs. “Now just - do that, again.”

Crowley obliged, getting his hands back into position, wincing a little at the awkwardness of the ties on his hands but not daring to think of taking them off.

“I need  _ more, _ Crowley, in - oh,  _ fuck -” _ Aziraphale took his wrist, the one belonging to the hand currently thrusting into him, and pushed it in harder than Crowley would have dared. He rearranged Crowley’s hand, so that thumb and pinky joined the fray. They all fit snugly, and Aziraphale continued to fuck himself on Crowley’s hand at an ever increasing pace.

_ Yes, use me,  _ Crowley thought, his head starting to get hazy with arousal again,  _ I’m all for you, please, fuck, use me.  _ It should probably say something about him that he got off so much on this. Right now, he didn’t care.

Since giving up the indifferent act Aziraphale had begun to express his pleasure properly. He screwed up his face and let out pants and groans of a frequency that increased with the pace of thrusting, and when Crowley focussed more attention on his red and swollen clit, he could feel the flesh hardening beneath him - and hear Aziraphale’s approval in the strangled cry he gave out.

“Cr-Cr-ooooh-Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, and then he was curled up off the pillows, holding Crowley’s hand in him as he came. It hurt, his hand cramping, his wrists rubbed raw from the restraints, and it was the best thing Crowley had ever felt. He held his hands against Aziraphale as his thighs heaved with release. The angel gasped and shuddered, gasped again, and then slumped back against the pillows.

Crowley reached out to touch the corner of his dazed smile. 

“Alright?” he asked, already sure of the answer.

Aziraphale took the palm of his hand and kissed it. “Much more than alright, my dear.”

Crowley crawled up the bed and settled himself on top of Aziraphale, feeling like the luckiest snake in the world, with the best, softest, and warmest rock. Perfect. Aziraphale threaded his arms around Crowley’s waist and held him close. Crowley had never realized what this sort of touch meant before. In Hell, touch was always done with purpose, to seduce, to reassure into seduction, or for pleasure. Crowley had never been touched with no purpose before, the way that Aziraphale did now, not for seduction, not for any peak of pleasure, but just - just because.

It felt more sacred than any of Crowley’s memories of Heaven.

Aziraphale’s breathing was deep and even. Crowley rose and fell minutely with every inhale and exhale. It was steadying. And he was so… so tired…

“Crowley!” 

Crowley groaned and screwed up his eyes against the light. 

“Whaaaat?” he yawned. The lovely warmth beneath him moved, and huffed, and then he was pushed off it onto cooler sheets. Crowley whined and tried to snuggle closer to the warmth, his half-awake brain rather primal in its instincts.

“Crowley, wake up! I have to - we have to -”

Aziraphale. Aziraphale. What was he doing in Crowley’s dream?

“Hmmmrgh?” Crowley managed to get out.

“Oh,  _ honestly.” _ It was the choked quality of it that made Crowley’s brain bash itself into working properly. He blinked open his eyes, and saw a very naked, very distressed angel sitting next to him, and he remembered it all with a jolt.

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “Angel, what - oh fuck - we fell asleep? What time is it?”

“It’s only been a couple of hours, but - well -” Aziraphale gestured at the morning light seeping in through the blinds. “I have to meet Gabriel soon.”

Crowley’s awakening emotions had been through quite a journey in the last few seconds. From completely out of it, to confused, to worried, to positively ecstatic about last night’s outcome, to worried, to extremely pissed when Aziraphale’s mouth formed the name Gabriel _ .  _ Blech.

“Angel, don’t,” he said, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand. “He’s not going to -”

“I’m going to meet him, and you can’t stop me,” Aziraphale said. Crowley wished he would yell it, and then he’d have an excuse to be angry too, to storm out. This sad, quiet admission was more than any demon should have to deal with.

“Right,” he said, because he didn’t know anything else to say.

Aziraphale sighed and got up from the bed. With a snap, his clothes were back on. He fidgeted with the cuff of his coat. 

“I’ll come back, after,” he said, looking at the floor. “If - if you still want to - well. We can decide what to do then.”

Crowley was starting to realize that the best night of his life was over. 

“Wait,” he said.

“Crowley, I have two minutes. Please just let me go.”

Crowley didn’t let the weight of that sink in, pushed it straight to the back of his brain with  _ you go too fast for me, _ and scrambled over the bed to Aziraphale, dropping to his knees in front of him.

“Aziraphale,” he said, looking up at the angel with eyes he could feel were rapidly turning wet, “Please don’t tell Gabriel. You can trust me. Please. I’m - I -”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, reaching out as if to touch the side of his face, instead hovering his hand next to Crowley’s cheek. “I’ll come back.”

_ But you’re still going to leave,  _ Crowley didn’t say.  _ I’m still not good enough. You still don’t trust me.  _

“Please don’t look like that,” Aziraphale said, and he still wasn’t touching Crowley, his hands curled right next to him.

Crowley knew how to change that, at least.

He reached forwards and fumbled with Aziraphale’s belt, his fingers shaking, his vision blurring. He couldn’t make Aziraphale stay. Couldn’t make him trust Crowley. But he could - he could give him this.

“I have to -” 

“I’ll be quick,” Crowley hissed, pulling down Aziraphale’s last-century underwear, sliding his fingers along the now-familiar slick of his cunt. “Just let me do this - one last time.”

Aziraphale’s hands graced his hair, softly, gently, and then clutching tight when Crowley leaned forwards and set his tongue to work. It was as quick as Crowley could make it, between the salt streaming from his eyes and his fingers being suddenly unsure and shaky. He looked up when Aziraphale’s hips jerked as he came, and the angel looked down. Release-soft blue eyes met Crowley’s angst-taught yellow ones.

Crowley took one of Aziraphale’s hands from his hair, and pressed his lips to it gently. Aziraphale’s hand was just as unsteady as his. Crowley didn’t look away.

But Aziraphale did.

“I - I - have to go - time - and all that - Gabriel - um.” Aziraphale backed away, looking at the floor. “Mind how you go.”

Crowley didn’t say anything.

And then the angel was gone _ . _ Crowley could hear him hurrying down the stairs. Naked and vulnerable and thoroughly wretched, he crawled back into Aziraphale’s bed. He assumed his snake form, curled up into the smallest coil he could, and gave in to hopeless misery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a consensual roleplay of non-consensual sex; if you want to skip it, it’s right at the end, once Aziraphale has a crick in his neck you can head to the bottom of the fic and just read the last section. Please know your limits and take care of yourselves!
> 
> This took a lot longer than expected, but over the past month I’ve had my uni exams, moved cities, and started a new job, so… I probably should have expected this. Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy 💖

Aziraphale checked his fly was done up. Pulled at his belt. Ran a hand over the buttons of his vest. Adjusted his bowtie. Combed a hand through his hair. Repeated it all at least three times.

Even then, seeing Gabriel sent a deep shock of anxiety straight from the fluffy tips of his hair to his feet, suddenly sweaty and overworked. Gabriel always did like to - what’s the expression? - ah, yes. Flex. And if Aziraphale was sweatier than he ought to be, he had an excuse. He was soft. He’d always been soft.

The terrible tear in the centre of him was so wretched, pulled wide open with Crowley’s parting gift, that Aziraphale barely registered the disappointment of his refusal.  _ Lean, mean, fighting machine. _ Aziraphale didn’t think his corporation had been made for fighting. No, even if everything was made by God, and this was all Her plan, it didn’t sit right with him. Give him a good book over a sword any day.

Afterwards, Aziraphale walked around London in a daze. He wondered vaguely if Crowley was still at the bookshop. Probably not. God knew Aziraphale didn’t deserve his loyalty. And then, then, then what would he do? He couldn’t actually just sit around and wait for the world to end. He had to find  _ someone _ to help. Someone with higher authority than Gabriel. Someone who was… all-powerful.

Well. If there was any time to try, it was today.

He barely felt the blows Uriel landed on him on his way back to the bookshop. They couldn’t do anything to him he hadn’t done to himself. Oh, what he’d done to himself. Always two halves, pulling. Two responsibilities, both vying for priority, each the singularly most important thing Aziraphale had ever known.

It was a contradiction, but wasn’t it always? The endless paradox of Aziraphale, Principality. Aziraphale, Crowley’s friend.

Aziraphale was outside the bookshop. The familiar door soothed him, and he reached out to touch it. He’d painted this himself, done it up a few years ago on one of his days off watching the wrong Antichrist. It was real, and warm in the sunlight. Comforting, to know that the bookshop would be here with him until the End.

The door flew open underneath his hand, and Aziraphale stumbled back, suddenly confronted with a faceful of hectic and stressed demon.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley said. He was back in his clothes, his sunglasses firmly pushed up his nose. “I just - Hell just called -”

“So did Heaven,” Aziraphale said.

“Angel, they’re coming for me.” The right half of Aziraphale, the Crowley half, ached at the desperation that no amount of sunglasses could cover. “They know I fucked up.”

Aziraphale’s heart clenched. “Oh, Crowley.”

“Will we - what will - are you - what are you gonna do?” Eyes that didn’t dare to be hopeful bore into Aziraphale’s side. He felt as if his clothes were being peeled off one by one, all his defenses laid aside.

“Gosh. I don’t quite know.”

Crowley made a half-choking, half-laughing sound that Aziraphale felt summarized their current predicament quite nicely.

“You won’t tell me where the Antichrist is. You won’t escape this whole blasted mess. You won’t even look at me, dammit, angel,  _ look at me!” _

Aziraphale did. And as he did, a little hammer started tap-tap-tapping away at the fissure on his heart, cracking it ever further open.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“For God’s sake,” Crowley hissed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just pick one. Please.”

But Aziraphale’s mind had gone off on quite a tangent, and he suddenly found he knew exactly what to do.

“That’s it! Crowley, I’ve got it!” He grabbed the demon’s shoulders in his surprise, and dropped them just as quick when Crowley twitched. “We’ve got to talk to God.”

Crowley’s face, which had been lifting, began to fall again rather rapidly. “God?”

“Yes, isn’t it obvious? We’ll tell Her what’s all been going wrong, and about all the - er - bad angels, and then She’ll sort it all out. She has to. It’s too important to muck up now.” Aziraphale was quite relieved to have struck upon such a liferaft amidst the ocean of the apocalypse. He hadn’t talked to God since - well - since Eden, but surely, this was the moment She would be watching like a hawk. A Godly Hawk.

“Azira - pffft - you - ungh!” Crowley exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “You are so smart! How can you be so stupid? God’s the whole - She’s just everything that’s - oh, fuck it. I’m going home, angel.”

Aziraphale, who had been mentally running through the whole angelic-summoning-circle business in his head, had to do a double-take. 

“Home? But -”

“If you think I’m sticking around for a phone call with dear old Mum, you’re thicker than you look.” Crowley’s jaw clenched in the way that Aziraphale knew from centuries of experience meant  _ decision made, no takebacks. _

_ Take me back,  _ Aziraphale wanted to say. Christ, they only had about four hours left to go.  _ Don’t leave me. _

“Crowley,” he said, and reached for him, desperate. But the demon stepped back out of his grasp and strode off down the pavement. Aziraphale watched him go, waited to listen for the slam of the Bentley door, stared at the car as it rumbled past, willing Crowley to look at him as he drove.

But he didn’t.

Aziraphale opened the shop door, closed it behind him with a click, and called God.

You know how this next bit went. 

Angel, demon, apocalypse, antichrist. Heaven, Hell, and so on. The sudden reappearance of a flaming sword. It was the same, and different, and the same. That is to say, we pick up our story on a park bench just outside of Tadfield.

You know the one.

Aziraphale sat in a slightly awkward, mostly companionable silence with Crowley. At least, he was hoping it was mostly companionable. He was mostly trying not to speak, so that he wouldn’t find out either way. Something about poisoning cats in boxes, and two outcomes existing at the same time.

_ Choose your faces wisely. _

It was all a bit much to process - the whole apocalypse thing. He wasn’t sure quite what had come over him, talking back to  _ Gabriel, _ taking a side, a stand. He might still come to regret it very much. But right then, sitting on a little wooden bench in the centre of a tiny town with Crowley, he didn’t.

“Here it is,” Crowley murmured when the weak headlights of a bus washed over them. “It’ll drive to London, don’t worry.”

A wave of warm gratitude washed through Aziraphale. It was always Crowley, wasn’t it? Sorting things out. He always just - did things. So that Aziraphale didn’t have to. Nothing asked for in return, not even a favour. Aziraphale was quite sure that if not for Heaven, he would have been entirely content, safe, and fulfilled staying by Crowley’s side forever.

He took Crowley’s hand, and didn’t let it go even when they got on the bus.

It was a good half hour of rumbling along the good British countryside before Aziraphale remembered, with a horrible pang and a shock, that his bookshop was gone. Crowley must have sensed the twitch in his fingers, or perhaps he had developed a fine-tuned Aziraphale-sense. Aziraphale wouldn’t be surprised.

“Angel?” Crowley asked quietly.

“The bookshop,” said Aziraphale. “It’s gone.”

“Oh,” said Crowley eloquently. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale didn’t have a Crowley-sense, but he didn’t need one to notice the sudden spike in distress the demon emanated. His fingers trembled, his palm sweaty against Aziraphale’s, and his shoulders curled in on himself.

“Can I stay with you?” Aziraphale asked. His brain helpfully reminded him how exactly that would sound given the previous night, but only after the words had left his mouth.

Crowley’s hand left his. He looked away from Aziraphale. “I can’t do it again. Don’t - don’t ask. Please.”

_ Tap-tap-tap _ went the hammer on Aziraphale’s heart.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” said Aziraphale, and immediately regretted it. “I mean - I only mean that I need somewhere to stay. Because of the bookshop. You know.”

“Right,” said Crowley. “Yep. Fine. Brilliant. Then we’ll get executed.”

Aziraphale bit his lip and took the paper out of his pocket. “I actually have an inkling of what can be done about that. Here…”

One bus ride, a lot of tense silence and some stretching of flesh later, they were at the Ritz. And they were quite happy, healthy, and alive, all three of which were entirely unexpected.

Well.

Aziraphale wasn’t  _ quite  _ happy, nor did he think Crowley was, but he felt he ought to try to believe it into reality. You see, Aziraphale was used to feeling tense around Crowley. Scared, too, but only ever for Crowley, always for Crowley. 

He wasn’t at all used to feeling scared  _ of _ Crowley.

It wasn’t anything about power or physicality or any of that nonsense. It was just that up until yesterday, Aziraphale had imagined this scenario - the best case one - going rather differently. A nightingale would sing, for one thing. The trees would stream a golden dappled light across them both, and they would draw closer, closer… 

Crowley was slouched so far back in his seat Aziraphale would find it offensive if he didn’t know that was just how Crowley sat. 

“To the world?” the demon offered, and held out his champagne glass. Aziraphale felt his face melt into a helpless smile, his hand drawn magnetically outwards, their glasses  _ clink _ ing as if it’d been the only thing they had ever existed for.

_ Sometimes,  _ Aziraphale thought dreamily,  _ the meeting of two quite different things can produce something beautiful. _

But as the chime faded from the air, Crowley’s grin did too. He slumped further down in his chair and downed the glass in one go. Aziraphale sipped delicately, rather hoping that Crowley would get the point, which of course he never would.

The point. Right. Yes.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started tentatively. “Now that we’re - well - I - you - oh, you know. You do know, don’t you?” He was beginning to feel rather desperate. Why was Crowley pouting, and why wasn’t he looking at Aziraphale? Didn’t he know this was their happy ever after? Had everything been horrible up until now? Well, yes. But hadn’t they gotten through it? Also yes! And they had the rest of eternity to themselves! Yes, they did! 

“What should I know, Aziraphale?” Crowley bit out. Aziraphale felt a chill raise the hairs on his arm despite the Ritz’s heating being perfectly adequate. “You’ve never told me - you’ve never  _ said _ \- anything.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue the ridiculous point, of course he had  _ said  _ things, he was speaking just a minute ago, before realizing exactly what Crowley was getting at. Well. He’d never flat out said it, but Crowley knew. They both knew.

Didn’t they?

“Crowley,” he said again, reaching a hand across the table. “You must know.”

Crowley sighed and stood up. It was rather a sudden movement, and he was so spread out across the chair that it wobbled dangerously.

“I don’t have to know  _ anything. _ You have - you’ve pushed me away, every time I reached out. You can’t - you don’t  _ get _ to do this now. I’ve tried, for Someone’s sake, I really have. It’s your turn. So go on. Go ahead.” Crowley was breathing hard. Aziraphale couldn’t stop blinking.

_ This isn’t how it was supposed to go, _ was all he could think.  _ You weren’t supposed to give up on me. _

Aziraphale’s head was a very sensible and happy sort of place. He liked to think of it as being lined with fluffy clouds, but still maintaining a logical structure as laid down by the Almighty. The problem was that whenever Crowley was around, the structure was all blown to bits and he found himself wandering down endless corridors with no clue as to where it might turn next, and feeling apprehensive about the unavoidable ending. But, with time, Aziraphale had learnt that the spontaneity and experience of things unknown could be much more interesting than the pre-defined Divine Plan.

Well, he’d learnt it, repressed it, unlearnt it, learnt it again, and so on.

The point was, Aziraphale’s head didn’t know how to make sense of a world where Crowley existed. It couldn’t predict him, no matter how well it knew him. As a result, it never got these sorts of situations right. Emotions were - tricky. They were the worst mazes of all, and Aziraphale was quite sure that angels were never supposed to get bogged down in them because it was frightfully confusing.

Aziraphale’s head would never have imagined this. It couldn’t have fathomed Crowley’s desperate proposition, or his own response, or the dizzying pleasure and pain that had ensued. It would have imagined something simple, sweet, and mind-numbingly dull. Crowley would take his hand and smile, and say  _ I have always loved you. _ Aziraphale would have said  _ I know, and I love you too.  _ They would kiss, briefly, chastely, and ride off into the sunset together.

What was Aziraphale supposed to do with this situation, then? What could he do when the threads were so tangled, when he couldn’t even figure out all his rushing and roaring feelings, let alone Crowley’s? The script didn’t work here. He couldn’t just  _ smile _ and wait for Crowley to confess his undying love. It wasn’t going to happen: that was written in every line of Crowley’s body.

Aziraphale had never gotten used to going off-script. It gave him a stomach ache. But he would try, now, before he ruined everything irrevocably.

“Please sit down,” he said gently. “Please don’t go.”

Crowley’s eyebrow twitched. The way things usually went, Aziraphale would get angry and huffy and storm off. This was - new. Different. Off-script.

Crowley sat.

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale. He hoped Crowley would read all that he meant into it. Then again - perhaps this sort of thing was exactly their trouble. Time to spell it out. “Crowley. Thank you for everything. I have to thank you for - for never giving up. Not even when the world was ending.”

“Angel, you don’t -” Crowley began.

Aziraphale held up his hand. “No. I do.” Was it fear that widened Crowley’s gaze? Or anticipation? “I do need to thank you, because I don’t tell you enough how much you mean to me. How much you’ve done for me. Crowley, a world without you is - unspeakable. Unimaginable. And the world with you - well, I still can’t imagine half of it, but it’s here, and so are you. And that’s… good. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m terrible at this.”

Crowley’s hand had clenched around his fork so tightly his knuckles were turning white, but he made an attempt at an encouraging smile.

“You’re always here. And I’ve done a shoddy job of showing you how much I - I love you.”

There was a strained creaking noise as the fork bent out of shape.

“I only wish I could go back in time and tell you more. I wish I could be less afraid. I wish I didn’t - I wish I could rewrite yesterday, and show you that I believe in you. That I trust you. Because I do. I always have, and now -” Aziraphale cleared his throat of the lump that had formed, “- I can tell you properly. So. I love you. And I’m sorry.”

The mangled pieces of fork tinkled as they dropped from Crowley’s hand to the table. He looked very pale.

“Angel,” he began, then stopped to clear his throat. “You don’t know how long -”

“But I  _ do,” _ Aziraphale interrupted. “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“No, you  _ don’t know _ how long I’ve… well. You don’t really know - me. You wouldn’t like me. I’m broken, angel.”

The words sent a spiraling shudder of darkness through Aziraphale, followed by guilt, thick and heavy. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed, suddenly not able to meet Crowley’s eyes. “I’ve been so stupid.”

“What?” Crowley asked. “No, no,  _ you’re  _ not the reason I’m - Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. You’re not thinking straight. You never have, not when it’s about - well - me.” Was this what it was like, to force the birth of truth? It was only what Aziraphale had known for millennia. It shouldn’t change the world as it came out, shouldn’t hurt so much. It was like squeezing a perfectly innocent tube of toothpaste, except the toothpaste had teeth in it and they came alive and started eating you from the inside out and -

“What are you saying, really?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. And another.  _ Never hurts to procrastinate the inevitable. _

“I’m saying that - I’ve behaved very poorly. Extremely cowardly. So, so fearfully -”

“Calm down with the adverbs, angel.” Aziraphale peeked a glance at Crowley’s face. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and the tiniest hint of a smile pulled at his cheeks.

“Right. Yes. Sorry. But you can’t judge me, not really. You’re too nice. You like me too much. You always have, and I love you all the more for it.” Saying  _ I love you _ over and over was also a bit like toothpaste, but the lovely pink sparkly kind. Aziraphale would never, could never tire of it. “I’m the only one who can judge me. And God, of course. Well. Probably just God, in an official capacity. But - ugh. Crowley, I’m not good enough for you.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed above his sunglasses. He stayed quite still for a few moments. Aziraphale was just about to act (to do what, he wasn’t sure: perhaps to kiss Crowley, squarely and passionately, in the hope that he might forget the entire conversation; or better yet, to crawl under the table, and reach for tight black jeans, and, and, and -) when Crowley’s hand began to move. It was quite steady as it reached for the glasses, but Aziraphale thought he detected a tremor as they were folded and tucked into his coat pocket.

“That’s the last thing I thought you’d say,” said Crowley, blinking at him. Aziraphale, not used to being caught in Crowley’s terrible and beautiful gaze, could do little but blink back. “I never thought you would - get here. To this conversation. I never thought you would lo-love me back.  _ Ever.” _

But that wasn’t right. Crowley wasn’t the stupid one. Crowley was the brave one, the one who dared to flirt with the edge of boundaries, the one who rescued him and asked him to run away. They both knew Aziraphale was only too scared to follow him.

“And now that you s-say that you do, you say you’re not good enough. You want me to - what? Give you an excuse to be miserable? Should I say  _ oh well, tough luck, guess I’ll just find another angel to mope over for six millennia?” _

“No! Don’t - wait, six  _ millennia?” _

“Told you. Angel, you’ve come so far. We’ve come so far. Together. And I’ll be blessed if I let us lose it all now. I meant it - I’m screwed up. Comes of being a demon, I suppose. And you - well, maybe you’re screwed up too. We’ve hurt each other. And you - look, I’m not going to swear on the Bible, but I wouldn’t lie to you - you’ve hurt me. A lot. This last week in particular.”

Aziraphale reached out to take Crowley’s hand. Crowley returned his grip, his thumb stroking over Aziraphale’s. It was very distracting.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

Aziraphale’s brain stuttered. “I’m sorry?”

“I said. You screwed up. What are you going to do about it?” Crowley squeezed his hand, grinning a rogue-ish (and terribly handsome) grin.

“Er,” said Aziraphale. “What?”

“Your lot have a good formula on how to repent, don’t they?”

They did. Well, some human churches did. Heaven, unsurprisingly, didn’t accept apologies. 

“You want me to - what - say my Hail Marys?”

“Don’t be stupid. I just - well. Look, if you never tell me what you want, I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

Aziraphale considered that. “But I don’t know what you want me to -”

“Exactly,” said Crowley. Aziraphale bit his lip, and Crowley’s gaze softened. “We can figure it out, angel. I know we can.”

And so Aziraphale began to think, really to think, about what he would like in Crowley’s position. Frustrated by miscommunication, terrified of rejection, so sure of his own worthlessness. It didn’t bear thinking about, really, nor the fact that Aziraphale had been so instrumental in creating that state of mind within Crowley. But it wasn’t so hard to imagine. Goodness knew Aziraphale had struggled with insecurities - about his corporation, about his personality, and of course about the deepest and truest version of himself. 

Aziraphale hated being torn. He hated having to make the wrong choice, over and over and over. He hated being frightened. He hated feeling like he was constantly at the mercy of Heaven. And what he wanted - what, he was quite sure, Crowley wanted - was a break from all of that. For something to be sure, completely and constantly. The only problem was that Aziraphale needed Crowley to be sure. They needed to trust each other. And Aziraphale had to be the one to fix it, because it had never been Crowley’s problem in the first place.

He gave a single nod and slid off the chair, kneeling on the floor next to Crowley. He took both of Crowley’s hands in his own. Looked into his eyes, so bright and intoxicating without their usual shield.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” Aziraphale said, huffing a laugh. “But I’m going to give it my best shot. Bear with me, will you?”

“Always,” said Crowley, so intensely that Aziraphale had to take a moment to refill his lungs before speaking again.

“Excellent. Thank you, dear. Right.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll start off with an apology. A proper one. You’re right, of course, you’re always right. I am so, so, so sorry for the way I have treated you. Yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and, well, all the days. It’s hard for me to think about all the - the hurt I’ve caused you. I don’t like to acknowledge it.” Aziraphale swallowed thickly. “You’ve probably noticed.”

Crowley snorted. “Maybe a bit.”

“Just a little.”

“Oh, just the tiniest bit.”

They smiled at each other.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said after a beat. “About it all. I’m sorry. I really, really am. And I won’t - I won’t push it away anymore. Or you. From now, Crowley, I swear it. I’m here - by your side - all the time. I’ll always be here. You can rely on me, this day, and the day after, and the day after that.”

“All the days?” Crowley asked, his eyes wide.

“All the days.” Aziraphale squeezed his hands. “You deserve someone who loves you entirely. Someone who you can depend on. Someone you can trust. And I’ll be that someone, if you’ll let me. And if you’ll let me, I’m going to do my damnedest to make it up to you. I know it’s a lot to make up for, I really do, my dear, but we have today. And I’ll try to make it up to you tomorrow, too. And the day after that. All the days.”

“All the days,” Crowley repeated faintly.

“Forever, if you’ll have me.”

Crowley made a wordless high-pitched noise of assent, and flung himself into Aziraphale’s arms. It was rather an awkward position, and Aziraphale’s chair was digging into his back, but Crowley was warm and soft and sniffling in his arms. 

“I love you,” Crowley said, once he could talk. “I love you, I love you, I love you, ‘Ziraphale, you don’t  _ know _ how much I, I’m sorry for making you apologise, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you, I -”

Aziraphale kissed him, less to stop him talking and more to stop Aziraphale from asking his hand in marriage, right then and there, without having made any of the necessary preparations. It wasn’t their first kiss, not even close, but Aziraphale had always doubted the value of  _ firsts _ . No, much better to get some practice, in his opinion. And Crowley was - practiced. Extremely so. The room dimmed around them, and Aziraphale, for what seemed like the first time in centuries, let out a breath that drained all the tension from him.

He was aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that snogging on the floor might not be Ritz-appropriate behaviour. Crowley must have reached the same conclusion, because he pulled back - but his hands, fisted firmly around Aziraphale’s lapels, didn’t move.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Crowley. He wasn’t so far away that his voice didn’t ghost warm air over Aziraphale. He wanted to drown in it. 

Aziraphale nodded, and raised his fingers to snap - but Crowley shook his head.

“Let me drive you,” he said softly. His eyes were full of a familiar longing - a familiar love. Aziraphale, ever powerless to those shining eyes, let him.

Contrary to popular belief, humans have more than five senses, and angels have many more senses than that. Over the next few hours (or was it days, or weeks? Angels did  _ not _ have a good sense of time), though, there was one that stood out in particular for Aziraphale. 

It was the feeling of comfortably worn leather upholstery. The cool metal of the door handle against his fingers, if Crowley would let him open any of his own doors. A warm palm against his palm, shaking fingers twining through his own. It was the feeling of being at home in his own skin again, his soft linen clothing brushing against his skin as someone pressed against him. The warmth of that same someone echoed all through him, mouth, chest, hips,  _ oh, _ hips - and the contrast of a bitingly cold wall at his back. Aziraphale would have to get Crowley to spruce up the place a bit, if this was going to be a regular occurence.

It was strange for Aziraphale to pay so much attention to touch. He was rather more used to letting himself bathe in extraordinary tastes - he liked to imagine he’d developed quite a sensitive palate, as it were.

(And if Aziraphale didn’t believe it, for whatever reason, he found that Crowley could be utterly convincing. At least when it came to sensitive palates.)

This touch was unlike anything Aziraphale had experienced before. It was more than the physical sensation, and it left sparks trailing all over his body. When Crowley kissed him, deep and slow and true, he could feel the love melting itself directly into his soul. And when he tugged at Crowley’s shirt buttons, with more than a hint of desperation, Crowley’s grin echoed somewhere deep within him. It was a moment so sweet and anticipatory, full of nothing but the endless and exquisite possibilities stretching out before them.

Aziraphale took his time with the shirt buttons this time. Much like Crowley’s insistence on driving them home, and opening the doors, it seemed important to do this right. And so once the shirt was entirely, thoroughly, completely off, he picked Crowley up in his arms (bringing about shrill yelp of surprise), and carried him to bed. 

It was very tempting to toss him up in the air and see how far he would sink into the ridiculously soft and fluffy mattress - but Aziraphale resisted, instead laying him down tenderly, running his hands down bare arms, kissing his forehead with a helpless smile.

“I love you,” he said, and it felt like a promise. It tasted sweet on his tongue, so he said it again. “I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too,” said Crowley, shirtless, dazed, flushed, and looking incredibly pleased with himself. “You make me feel like the luckiest bastard in the world.”

“I believe that title belongs to me, dearest,” said Aziraphale.

“Not yet,” Crowley grinned, “But it will. Come here. Let me have at you.”

Aziraphale went very willingly, pinning Crowley in place, straddling his hips. He kissed Crowley once, twice, three times, in an effort to be tantalizing. It must have worked, because Crowley moaned as he pulled away.

“Now, now, don’t be greedy,” Aziraphale said, tapping Crowley’s nose. “It’s a -”

But Crowley had flipped him onto his back, quite suddenly, and loomed over him loomily.

“Oh, angel,” he growled, “I know all about sin. Lust, for one. Greed, too. Mix them together, and you might never make it out of this bed.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” said Aziraphale with equanimity, “That would work for me.”

Crowley snarled in a way he probably thought was very scary and demonic but came across as incredibly endearing. He tugged Aziraphale’s bowtie off, pushed up his sweater, ripped apart his buttons, and tore right through his undershirt, by which time he had rather lost his momentum.

“You’re like an onion,” said Crowley, faceplanting onto Aziraphale’s stomach. “So many layers.”

“And I make you cry,” Aziraphale added. Crowley snorted, but didn’t move. Aziraphale began to thread his hands rhythmically through Crowley’s hair, which was soft and shining in the flickering light of the extremely dramatic candles that had spontaneously appeared in each corner of the room. He hummed a tune under his breath, the same one Crowley had used to sing to Warlock. Aziraphale, of course, had made up his own lyrics once he’d heard the ones Crowley had thought most demonic.

_ Go to sleep, and dream my dear _

_ Of all things good and right and fair _

_ Dream so sweet my darling boy _

_ For you’re the future’s pride and joy _

Crowley made a soft noise against his stomach, and Aziraphale could feel his skin vibrate with it.

“Alright, my dear?”

“Yeah,” said Crowley, lifting his head and resting his chin on Aziraphale. It didn’t look comfortable, and Crowley’s chin was quite pointy, but Aziraphale didn’t protest - not when Crowley was looking at him like he’d hung the stars personally.

(It was just the one.)

“I’m just having a bit of trouble getting everything straight in my head,” said Crowley. “I forget for two seconds, and then I remember, and I can’t quite - guh.”

Aziraphale understood perfectly - he was just better practiced at suppressing his thoughts. He caressed Crowley’s cheek.

“You’ll get used to it soon,” he murmured.

Crowley huffed a cool breath that skittered over Aziraphale’s skin. “I don’t think I will, and I hope I never do.”

No. No, Aziraphale didn’t think he’d ever get used to this either. It was a kind of sacred knowledge, a secret between them that came with all of the glee and none of the guilt. It filled him with light, and hope, and love.

A lot of romance novels were starting to make sense now.

Crowley tucked his face against Aziraphale again, and started to kiss all the skin he could reach amidst the folds of wrecked fabric. Each kiss was a blessing that Aziraphale could never hope to deserve, but could only try forever to appreciate enough. 

It wasn’t hard to appreciate them. 

Not when the kisses moved downwards, so slowly he might not have noticed if not for the faint brush of Crowley’s hands past his thigh as he shuffled downwards. Crowley’s lips were warm, and slightly wet. Aziraphale’s hips shifted involuntarily as he imagined those lips kissing their warmth and wetness even further downwards.

Crowley hummed in amusement, and kissed his way from left to right hipbone, and all the way back. Aziraphale had to work to stop his hips from making any more embarrassing twitches, settling instead for fisting his hands in the sheets.

And then Crowley shuffled downwards again and tugged gently at his pant belt. Not enough to take them off, not nearly, but - a question. Aziraphale answered with enthusiasm that would have mortified him if Crowley wasn’t breathing hard and fast, but he was, and so he kicked them off as fast as he could, letting his underwear slide off in the process. Crowley grinned and ran gentle hands over his thighs. Aziraphale shivered, and spread them at once when Crowley’s hand slipped in between.

His hand didn’t go quite the direction Aziraphale had been hoping, though - not immediately. It wandered down to his knee, and paused. Aziraphale was about to complain when Crowley’s mouth was back on his skin, kissing upwards this time - upwards, from the soft and tender skin of his inner thigh.

Aziraphale made the noise he usually reserved for pears. Crowley paused to let out a ragged breath against his skin, and then kept kissing, upwards, upwards - oh God,  _ there, _ Aziraphale thought desperately. To no avail. Crowley seemed to kiss everywhere except the place Aziraphale craved, taking his sweet time. His sweet, sweet, tong- time.

When Crowley shifted his kisses to the  _ other _ thigh, though, Aziraphale had to speak out.

“Crowley,” he whined, trying to nudge his lover’s head in the right direction with his thigh. “Crowley, please.”

“Patience is a virtue, angel,” Crowley murmured, continuing his leisurely kissing.

Aziraphale whined again, wordlessly. Crowley sighed, and licked a long stripe across his thigh - almost -  _ almost _ reaching his cunt. It was then, just when Aziraphale had given up hope, when he was sure that Crowley would lick his legs for _ ever, _ that Crowley finally acquiesced.

There was a hopelessly debilitating warmth right where Aziraphale needed it, Crowley’s hot breath the tantalizing precursor to -  _ oh. _ His lips - his tongue -  _ something _ hot and sweet and lovely surrounded Aziraphale’s clit. It was still, for a moment, utterly intoxicating in its presence, and then it began to move.

Aziraphale hadn’t realized just how aroused he was. Apparently he was so much so that the gentlest of touches spiked a beam of white-hot arousal right through him. Apparently, he was embarrassingly close to coming. He communicated as much to Crowley, through a series of garbled, frantic noises, who stopped his tongue’s movement at once.

Aziraphale sighed shakily, and twined his hands through Crowley’s hair again. His love’s head went limp and loose in his grip, his tongue still pressed flat to Aziraphale’s clit. Aziraphale tugged on Crowley’s hair experimentally, and had to bite his lip as the movement of head translated to movement of tongue, which translated to immediately effective delight. He paused, giving himself time to recover, then did it again. Arousal bolted through him, bringing him teetering to the edge, and so he stopped. Waited. Moved.  _ Fuck. _

Each tiny gesture was almost his ending, and several times, he had to bite his lip to keep from coming, had to focus and clench his thighs around Crowley’s head and force it down. As he went, though, he grew more greedy, the movement becoming more frequent, the gaps between then shorter and shorter. Crowley moaned his approval into Aziraphale’s cunt, eyes hazy with his own arousal. At that, Aziraphale choked out a  _ please, _ and began to rut against Crowley’s tongue as hard and fast as he could manage. 

He came with a muffled curse, his body going taut, Crowley panting and whining against his clit. His hips bucked as the waves of arousal rushed through him, each bringing another of the tiny but infinitely lovely movements, which sparked through him again and again. Eventually, the pleasure ebbed and flowed to a faint background noise. 

Aziraphale shuffled backwards into a sitting position, and sagged against the soft, plump pillows. Crowley stayed right where he was, his lips trembling, hands shaking.

“Crow-ow-ley?” Aziraphale asked, holding out an arm in invitation. His orgasm had left him a little dizzy, and entirely too happy about it. “Y’alright?”

Crowley moved with a superhuman speed to straddle him, his hands shaking as they gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“I’m so close,” he gasped, screwing up his face as his hips worked to find a friction against Aziraphale’s. “I’m sorry, fuck, please, can you - ?”

Aziraphale felt his eyes flutter,  _ flutter _ with none of the dignity of a six thousand year old angel, and then he was scrabbling at Crowley’s fly, and Crowley was too. Three hands (one of Crowley’s was doing its best to bring Aziraphale as close as inhumanly possible), it turned out, were not compatible with the zip. Aziraphale pushed the extra hand away impatiently, and felt it return to slide around his neck. Crowley leaned forwards with the air of a dying demon, his chin tucked over Aziraphale’s shoulder, cheek pressed firmly into his neck. Aziraphale finally got the fly undone, the belt un-belted, and used one hand to hold open Crowley’s underwear (who wore a thong to Armaggeddon, really?). The other slid forwards, sliding over Crowley’s labia, finding their mark quickly.

Crowley’s hands scratched at Aziraphale’s back, and in his pleasure, he  _ mewled _ \- there was really no other word for it. Aziraphale’s own arousal was definitely becoming interested again, having no interest in any kind of refractory period, and he gasped Crowley’s name against silky auburn hair. He let his fingers slide further, further, until they slid into Crowley. His cunt accepted two with ease, and Crowley let out a strangled and high-pitched gasp. 

“That’s it,  _ fuck, _ angel, take me,  _ claim me, _ I’m yours, I’m yours -”

“You’re mine,” Aziraphale said, thrusting his fingers in, again and again, “You’re  _ mine.” _

“Yours, yours, ‘Zira - pha - ale, I’m  _ yours,  _ fuck - !”

Crowley’s hips thrust as he came, so that Aziraphale only had to hold his fingers still and let Crowley ride him, his love biting down on his shoulder, nails pressed hard against Aziraphale’s back and sure to leave delicious marks. He held Crowley as his movements became slower and slower, his hands unclenching, his body softening against Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale pulled his fingers out gently. Crowley whined softly, and pushed his face into the hollow of Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale petted his hair with his clean hand, and brought the other to his mouth. It tasted better than oysters, and he let himself suck them completely clean, making an involuntary little pleased noise at the back of his throat. Crowley mumbled something against his skin, and stretched out his legs so that he was sprawled right over Aziraphale. His very own very loving and languid snake.

“Love you,” Aziraphale said, and kissed Crowley’s hair. “Was that good for you?”

“Mmmmf,” said Crowley, and burrowed impossibly further into him. “You?”

“You  _ know _ it was, Crowley.”

Crowley snuffled adorably, and then lifted his head, rolling slightly to the side. Aziraphale’s arms immediately had him surrounded, which made his love smile just a little.

“It’s different,” said Crowley, “Now that you’re - well, I’m yours.”

“And I am yours,” Aziraphale said. “You’re allowed to say it, you know.”

“You’re - you’re mine,” Crowley managed. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be very difficult for you,” Aziraphale teased, smiling.

“Oh, shut up.”

A moment of silence hung in the air, during which Aziraphale’s eyes couldn’t possibly tear themselves away from the deep amber ones gazing into him. 

“Seriously, though, it’s different.  _ Better.” _ Crowley ducked his head awkwardly. “For me, at least.”

“Better for both of us,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley’s cheeks flushed beautifully. “I’ve never felt quite like this. Afterwards.”

“Neither,” Crowley said. “I’m starting to wonder if we’ve missed some big part of being human. Or something.”

“Probably. But we’ll never really know, I suppose. What it’s like to - well - have limitations.”

“Limitations?”

“You know. Time limits.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Death? But I feel like you’re not talking about death.”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale grinned. Then Crowley got it.

“Ohhhhh,” he said. And then, “Oooooh.”

“Quite. There’s nothing else stopping us, either.”

“How long are we talking, angel?” Crowley asked. “Only, I’ve got to water the plants once a week, you know.”

“It’ll be months. Years.  _ Decades.  _ Your plants will just have to die, I’m afraid. It’s a terrible shame.”

“And all because of your libido,” Crowley sighed. “Tragic.”

Aziraphale giggled, and kissed Crowley’s forehead. Crowley made a small happy sound in response, and asked, “‘Ziraphale?”

“Yes, love?”

“D’you mind if I sleep?”

Aziraphale smiled and petted Crowley’s hair. “Not at all, love. Shall I tell you a - oh.”

Crowley was already passed out, snoring faintly into his chest. Aziraphale was a little tired, but the prospect of watching Crowley sleep was much more promising, and so he did. 

After a couple of hours, though, Aziraphale had developed a crick in his neck from craning to see Crowley’s face. He tried to manage it at first, breathing deeply, rolling his neck as much as the squashy pillow propping it up would allow him. But it was no use. His neck hummed and throbbed with a faint but ever-present pain, and he was left with no choice.

Aziraphale carefully rolled to the side, maneuvering Crowley off him and onto the bed as gently as possible. Oh, that was much better. He propped himself up on an elbow and stretched his neck to the right, the crick disappearing with a faint  _ click. _

Then he looked down, to see the most hurt, betrayed, and abandoned eyes he had seen in his life. Crowley had woken up, and found himself tossed inelegantly to the side. Aziraphale, it was clear, was a traitor.

He pulled Crowley close instantly, murmuring an apology. Crowley huffed, but leaned up to kiss him all the same, gently at first, and then not gently at all.

Aziraphale made a long  _ mmmmm _ sound, and immediately regretted it. Crowley, though, seemed to have other ideas.

“Do it again,” he said, and kissed Aziraphale again, hard. It was easy to let the sound be pulled out of him, and Crowley hissed his satisfaction.

Once Crowley was really, properly awake, though, he broke away.

“Aziraphale?” he asked, breathing hard.

“Yes?” Aziraphale said, leaning forwards to kiss him again, but being deflected by Crowley’s hand. He pouted.

“Can I - oh, don’t give me that look, angel - can I tie you up?”

Aziraphale was so taken aback that he forgot about his kissing mission. “What?”

“It’s fine, never mind,” Crowley said hurriedly. “I just thought maybe you’d like to -”

“Yes,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I mean - yes. Only I’ve never really - you know. Been on the, er, receiving end.”

“I don’t think bondage  _ has _ a receiving end,” Crowley said cautiously.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Crowley held up a pair of fluffy tartan-patterned cuffs. “May I, then?”

“Certainly. And you remember everything from - the other time?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said.

“Safeword?”

_ “Eden,  _ ugh, do you  _ know _ how unarousing that is to -”

“I know, I know, dear, that’s the point.”

“Ugh.” Crowley turned Aziraphale onto his stomach, and cuffed his hands securely behind his back. “Feel okay?”

“Mmmm,” said Aziraphale, feeling rather lovely, despite himself. He tested the cuffs, pulling his hands apart. They were quite secure, but not too tight. Bondage was  _ fun, _ he decided.

“I was thinking,” Crowley began, running his hands lightly over Aziraphale’s ass, “Maybe I could - er - take you from behind. If that would be - okay.”

“Oh, yes,” breathed Aziraphale.

“Hang on, then, I’ll just switch configurations.”

Aziraphale looked back with some alarm. “But you don’t  _ like _ having a penis.”

“It’s not really that I don’t like it, I just think vaginas are superior in almost every way. This way we can both, you know, fuck. At the same time.”

“It’s a bit heteronormative, though,” Aziraphale said doubtfully. “Are you sure you don’t want me to have a penis too?”

“But  _ you _ don’t like having a penis!”

“It’d be to keep you company, though!”

“Angel, just - no. My penis doesn’t need  _ company -” _

Aziraphale giggled, and Crowley grinned at him, rolling his eyes.

“You’re  _ six thousand years old,  _ and you still think the word penis is funny, don’t you?”

Aziraphale giggled again, and pushed his face into the pillow.

“Shut up,” he said. “Go on, then. Grow your - you know.”

Crowley sniggered, then cleared his throat. “Alright. Er. Done.”

“Well, get on with it, then,” Aziraphale said, lifting his bottom into the air. He felt the bed sink behind him, and then hands rubbed over his ass.

“You’re so perfect,” Crowley sighed. “I love every inch of you. God, angel, don’t ever change.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Crowley. Go on.”

“Actually, I was thinking,” Crowley began, and Aziraphale sighed. “No, hear me out. I was thinking - er - well - you obviously don’t have to, but - um -”

“Get on with it,” Aziraphale said, feeling his cunt throbbing with anticipation.

“Could I - just sort of pretend - maybe we could - you know, if I pretended to take you by, erm, by force…?”

Aziraphale looked back again, his impatient arousal temporarily forgotten.

“Stupid idea,” Crowley muttered. “Sorry.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, turning around and sitting up. “It’s a wonderful idea. And you know, there aren’t any stupid ideas, when it comes to sex. You needn’t be so embarrassed.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley, and put his face in his hands.

Aziraphale wanted to touch him, but his hands were still tied, so instead he headbutted Crowley’s chest in what he hoped was an affectionate manner.

“I can just say no, if I don’t like your ideas,” he said, and kissed Crowley’s sternum. “And vice versa.”

“I know,” said Crowley, and emerged from his hands, face bright red. “Sorry, I’m just - not good at talking. You know?”

Aziraphale, who knew perfectly well, nodded sympathetically. He gave Crowley two seconds of recovery, and then his desire, spiking with the promise of  _ by force, _ took over. He turned around, faceplanted inelegantly on the bed, and raised his behind again.

“Go on,” he said, “Please.”

Crowley took a deep breath, and then leaned forwards. Aziraphale could feel the stiff and promising length of his newly-formed dick brushing against his cheeks.

“I’m going to start now,” he said, because he wasn’t sure if he ought to give some sort of indication or not, and thought it safer to. “Okay?”

“Okay,” said Crowley, resting his hands on Aziraphale’s back. “Me too.”

“No,” Aziraphale gasped, yanking at his handcuffs, trying to scramble up the bed. “Please, don’t - oh!”

Crowley had grabbed him by the hips and wrenched him back. “Stay here,” he growled. “And don’t be like that.”

“Please,” Aziraphale cried. “Please, stop.”

Crowley pushed his shoulders down into the bed with one hand, and felt his way in between Aziraphale’s legs with the other. He curled his fingers into Aziraphale’s warmth, pushing inside him.

“Ohhh,” Aziraphale moaned. “I mean - no! My - my innocence, oh, you’ve ruined me!”

Crowley snarled softly, and pushed a third finger in, just a little roughly. 

“I can ruin you more,” he said. Aziraphale felt it go straight to his clit. 

“Please, don’t, I’ll be, I’ll be good -”

Crowley pulled his fingers out. “You are good. Good and ready for me, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale bit his lip to stop himself from groaning  _ yes, get on with it, already. _ Then he felt Crowley’s head resting against his entrance. It was warm and thick, and as just the tip pushed inside, he couldn’t keep from groaning.

“Please,” he gasped, trying to sound as if he were pleading for escape, rather than - well - exactly what Crowley did next, which was to push in further.

“You like that, don’t you?” Crowley asked. “Yeah, you  _ love  _ that. You’ve been waiting for someone like me, haven’t you, angel? Someone to ruin you. To spoil your innocence. Well, I’m going to  _ wreck _ your innocence.”

“Oh, God,” Aziraphale moaned, and bit into the pillow. “Please do.”

Crowley leaned over him and pushed right into him, so that Aziraphale could feel his balls resting just beneath. 

“Please,” cried Aziraphale, “Please - stop.”

Crowley did stop then. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Aziraphale huffed, wriggling around Crowley’s length impatiently. “Can’t you hurry up a bit?”

“Fine,” said Crowley, and began to thrust. He was slow at first, long, luxuriant strokes that left Aziraphale’s mouth watering and his body aglow. But then he began to increase the tempo, and Aziraphale could do nothing but keep his knees in place and take it, take it all. Crowley seized his tied hands, and Aziraphale lost track of all the movements but felt a miracle that meant his hands were tied on the other side now, in front of him. Crowley stretched them above his head and held them there as he thrust, every motion bringing him flush with Aziraphale’s back. 

“Ohhh, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, beginning to shake. “Can you touch me? P-p-please?” He was stuttering with the intensity of it, but craving that last edge, the one that would bring him to glorious release.

Crowley hummed and stopped thrusting to bring a hand around him, fingers quickly finding their mark, and setting to work. 

_ “Oh, fuck,”  _ Aziraphale gasped. The added stimulation, combined with Crowley’s ever-faster thrusting - it was incredible. He trembled violently in the beginnings of release, and with a hiss, Crowley followed him. They came together, coming apart, Aziraphale collapsing and Crowley collapsing on top of him afterwards.

Aziraphale felt rather lovely, sandwiched in between a soft bed and a soft demon. He let his eyes close, and his breathing deepen. There was no rush this time, after all… 

He woke up feeling quite simply marvellous. Warm sunlight was streaming through the single huge window in Crowley’s room. Aziraphale was tangled up in the sheets, and his body seemed to sing with pleasure. It had been so long since - well, no, he’d never felt like this. Like the whole world was right and fair, as if it had made sense all along, like he was living in the endless happy-ever-after of a fairy tale. 

“Crowley?” he called, not seeing him anywhere in the room. The scent of something lovely wafted along the hallway.

“Angel!” Crowley cried, skidding to a halt in the open doorway. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d be done cooking before you woke up.”

Aziraphale got out of bed and went to his love, kissing him softly.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he murmured, full of tenderness. “What are you making?”

“I thought I’d try some crêpes,” Crowley said, ducking his head. “I better get back, actually, they’re probably burning.”

“Go on then,” said Aziraphale, kissing him one last time before pushing him down the hall. “I’ll be there in a moment!”

Aziraphale didn’t know quite why he needed a moment, but when your lover is making you crêpes for the first morning of a thousand, one might need to take some time to appreciate the change. Crossing the threshold. Committing to a future that would be different, every day, in the best possible way.

So Aziraphale miracled a flannel set of pyjamas on, padded down the hallway, and entered the kitchen. Crowley was there, his hair sticking up from sleep, the light catching in it creating a sort of halo. He was swearing and bashing the pan with a spatula. He hadn’t noticed Aziraphale yet, and the angel simply stood there and admired the tableau.

Then he stepped into it.

**Author's Note:**

> [come yell at my tumblr](https://gay-star-knight.tumblr.com/)


End file.
